


Being Thin is for Conformists

by orphan_account



Series: Being Thin is for Conformists [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: BDSM, Belly Kink, Chubby Pete, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fat Shaming, Feeding Kink, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Slurs, Swearing, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, chubby character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:04:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5149592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Pete have been fuck-buddies for months now, but Michael still hasn't been allowed to see beneath Pete's shirt. They only have sex with their clothes on, and Michael's obsessive personality has made him unable to cope with the mystery. That, and he just hates that Pete is so damn self-conscious. He tries to convince the short boy he has nothing to be ashamed of, but maybe he's pushing too hard? Talking about feelings is so not-goth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cause I Fucking Like You

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be PWP, it really was. I'm starting to think I'm not capable of that. Either way it seeped into the dramatic, but also I honestly think that just happens when you're writing for the goth kids. To clarify, I'm gonna say both of the main characters are 18, senior year in high-school here. 
> 
> Also, I wrote this when I was supposed to be writing NaNoWriMo, so the next chapter might take a while. Like maybe not until next month. What can I say, inspiration for fanfiction only strikes when I'm dedicated to writing original stuff.

Michael had gotten the idea from Henrietta. They’d been behind the school smoking while the others were in class. The two older goths had art during this hour, but had convinced Mrs. Streibel a close friend had died and she let them leave. She never asked why someone close to them seemed to die every Thursday. They smoked and bitched, which were their two favorite things to do, when Henrietta went off.

“My bitch of a mom keeps trying to put me on a fucking diet.” she growled, taking a long drag from her antique cigarette holder to punctuate her point. “I told her that I’m not going to just conform to society's expectations of me. My body doesn’t exist for her consumption or anyone else's.”

She kept up her rant, but Michael was staring off into the middle distance, deep in thought. He mumbled general positive epithets whenever Henrietta paused for too long, but already he was plotting.

That night, when Farkle and Henrietta had both left, he watched Pete for a long while.

Love was overrated, they both said as much. Sex, though… Sex was primal and real. They’d been fucking for almost six months now, in secret. One thing that Michael had noticed, had paid special attention to, was the other boys stomach. And the fact that he wasn't allowed to touch it.

Michael liked forbidden things. It was an obsession of his, along with the bitter coffee and poems about death. He liked doing things people told him not to do. The first time he reached to tug away Pete’s bolo tie and rip open his shirt and he was denied, that sparked his interest. He didn’t take off the boys black shirt, because Pete said no, and instead they fucked with most of their clothes on. Still, he started paying attention.

Pete always wore loose shirts. Michael thought he just liked the disheveled look it gave him- the same reason he kept the shaved side of his head matted and tangled. Once he started paying attention, however, the real reason became clear.

The boy was soft. Chubby. Maybe even fat, though it was hard to tell. The more they became physical, the easier it was for Michael to notice, even in the dark with their clothes on. When he forced their bodies together, he felt Pete’s stomach give against his own lithe frame. For Michael, who had never had an ounce of fat stick to him, it just made Pete more tempting, but the soft-spoken boy was adamant they keep their clothes on, and shied away from any questioning.

“Enough of the bullshit.” Michael said after they’d maintained eye contact for what must have amounted to a solid fifteen minutes. He put out his cigarette on the carpet of his bedroom. The floor was littered with similar marks, like a collection. “Take off your damn clothes already.”

Pete couldn’t hide his surprise at such a sudden outburst. Michael hadn’t said anything about it before.

“Why?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. He lowered his head enough for the fringe to cover two thirds of his face, like a shield, but Michael was done letting him stay guarded. Besides, he could see the blush that Pete was trying to hide anyway.

“Because I want to see what you fucking look like. Is that a crime?”

Pete didn’t respond, taking another long hiss off of his cigarette. Michael waited for an answer, but he could only be so patient. Eventually, he realized he would have to make the initiative.

“Come on.” he growled, motioning to Pete’s shirt buttons. “Let me see.”

Pete’s pale hand grabbed at the black fabric, but it looked more like a stumbled attempt at holding the shirt together than unbuttoning it, like Michael might jump forward any second and pry the sides apart.

“No.”

“Why _not_?” Michael asked, using his tone to give the question a sharp edge.

Pete’s face darkened more, and he shrugged.

“Whatever.”

“Not an answer.” Michael pointed out, sitting up. “Look, I’ll take mine off, too.”

He started unbuttoning his long white shirt without even taking off his trench coat. He didn’t have the sort of body one would typically be ‘proud of’, but beyond the curly hair he figured he had a good Marylin Manson vibe. Skinny and pale, and not at all unappealing unless you were into a more… softer type.

Pete huffed, hiding his face even more.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” Michael asked, confident that wasn’t the case. They’d been together enough times, and it was hard to believe that Pete had any issues after he’d begged for him on more than one occasion.

“Of course I do, but that’s easy for you.” Pete mumbled. His voice was even quieter than it usually was. “You look… right.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Goths are supposed to be skinny.” Pete claimed finally, his one visible eye meeting Michael’s for a fraction of a second before looking down again. He tugged on the end of his shirt. It was…

Fuck, it was _cute_. Michael would never say it, but it was.

“Henrietta isn’t.”

“Henrietta’s a girl.” Pete shot back fast enough for the taller boy to realize that he had put real thought into this. It had bothered him enough to form arguments already. “Girls are… I dunno... supposed to be soft, or whatever.”

Michael brushed back Pete’s fringe so he could look at both eyes, though the other boy seemed resolute to stare at the ground.

“Why’s skinny better? Cause society told you so?” he asked, parroting what Henrietta had said earlier perfectly. “Is your body for them? For them to consume?”

Pete shrugged, but he looked up at Michael again. He was listening.

“Your body is a revolution against corporate bullshit.” he urged. “Show me.”

Maybe he was just spouting nonsense to see Pete’s body. Maybe. He wasn’t even sure, he just knew he wanted to see it bad enough to say anything, at this point. That, and it really pissed him off that Pete felt like he had to hide it. Michael hated being told no. When Pete didn’t respond again, Michael moved his hand forward and took Pete’s, tugging it away from his shirt. Then he started unbuttoning, from the bottom upwards, all the way to the boy's neck. He didn’t even pull it apart yet, because he wanted to relish the moment.

Pete was propped up against the wall, and when Michael finally did unveil his torso, he found he really appreciated that position. The boy was definitely chubby, and his belly pooched over his black jeans when he was sitting up.

Michael looked up to see that Pete looked _horrified_. Scared out of his wits. His lip was trembling. His arms stayed at his sides, but it was more out of defeated obedience than anything else.

“Shh.” he urged, moving up and kissing his lips. They didn’t kiss often. Love was bullshit… but… damn, was it tempting to think otherwise. Because right now Michael wanted to make Pete feel better, more than anything. “It’s okay.”

“No it is _not_.” Pete mumbled. “You look… you look like a goth, I look like a fucking hog.”

Michael frowned.

Pete didn’t talk much about his life outside of the gang. He never had. But more than once a late-night phone call had been interrupted by screaming, and Pete would come to school the next day with his fringe covering a black eye. It had stopped when his parents divorced, two years back, but...

Well, somehow he had trouble believing that Pete had come up with these opinions on his body all on his own.

“Look at me.”

Pete listened. Michael knew he would, because Pete had always done what he said. He probably didn’t even need to come up with some whole speech to get him to take his clothes off. If Michael had told him to do it, without any prompting, eventually Pete would have worn down.

No, the speech was because he wanted to make Pete feel better about it.

And maybe to loosen him up a bit, but that could be later.

“Who the fuck cares if you look like I do? Why would I want to fuck myself?” he asked, holding Pete’s eyes. “Goths don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of how we look. That’s the fucking point. But…”

He moved down, away from Pete’s lips and down to his soft stomach. It was _really_ soft, too. Not just a few extra pounds. The fact that he was able to hide it behind loose clothes was practically brilliant. When he was sitting up like he was, it turned into a little ball, with just a bit of pudge folding on top of it, too.

“If you have to care, if you really can’t stop yourself, care what _I_ think.”

Then he sunk his teeth in. Just a bit, a little nibble. Dragging them over the flesh, feeling the way it sunk beneath his molars. He could’ve kissed it, too, but that was too sentimental, and Michael… Well, he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t some stupid vampire kid, that was bullshit, but… It just felt right.

Pete took a sharp breath, and dropped his cigarette. It had about an inch of ash at the end, he hadn’t taken a draw since Michael approached. Thankfully it landed in the ashtray, though Michael didn’t care if it burned his whole house down as long as Pete was listening to him.

“... What _do_ you think?”

The shorter boy was clearly trying to keep his voice from sounding insecure, but it seeped in anyway. Michael could think of so many ways to respond, but in the end he settled for the most obvious.

“You’re hot.” he declared, tugging Pete’s shirt down his arms and climbing between the boy's legs. Both hands moved to the soft ball of a tummy. It was enough to fill them, though he couldn’t help but imagine how great it would feel if Pete _overfilled_ them with his gut alone. Pete let out a soft groan and lowered his eyes.

“ _Stopit_ …” he whined, and it was a whine, even though that was very un-goth of him.

 _Stop being fucking cute_ . Michael thought angrily. Still, he managed to let go of Pete’s stomach like he asked, mostly just so the boy would realize it wasn’t what he _really_ wanted. While they were still, Pete took a few deep breaths, which pushed his tummy out more in a heavy rhythm.

“Are you fucking with me?” he asked after a long silence. “Because I swear if you’re fucking with me, Michael…”

Michael huffed in response.

“Want me to prove it? Climb into bed.” he demanded. “I’ll fucking show you how hot you are.”

He pulled away, because there was really no way for Pete to do what he ordered unless he did. Pete hesitated, looking from Michael to the bed several times before he finally moved over. His shirt stayed behind, which Michael had to admit was probably a show of good faith. He could have easily tried to slip it back on.

Of course, once he was on the bed he looked even more sheepish, and pulled Michael’s black covers over himself.

“Cut it out.” Michael growled.

“Turn off the light.”

Michael blinked, if only because Pete hardly ever told him to do anything. He hardly ever told anyone to do anything.

“The whole point was to actually see you this time.” he pointed out, moving over to the bed. “You wanna see me, don’t you?”

Pete gulped, and his eyes moved down Michael’s thin chest. His stomach wasn’t toned, but it was flat, almost concave even. It wasn’t fair. He and Michael ate almost exactly the same…

“Yeah.” he said, relinquishing his hold on the blanket. “Fine. But if this all is some trick to laugh at me I swear I’ll--”

“Why would I do that?” Michael asked. “What would be the point?”

Pete fell silent then, whether he didn’t have the answer or just was wary of Michael’s tone was anyone’s guess.

“Let me see.” Michael said, pulling the sheet down. “Stay still, or I’ll tie you up.”

They’d never fucked in the bed before. He hadn’t thought of that until now. It was always something quick, spur-of-the-moment… Probably because that was the easiest way for Pete to keep his shirt on. Even so, Pete didn’t doubt Michael had the equipment he would need to tie him up if he wanted to. They’d all taken trips to Spencer's and heard Michael make fun of the ‘play things’ they passed off as bondage gear.

To his credit, Pete did stay still, lying flat on his back while Michael moved on top of him, staring at his neck, then moving down.

He took stock of every bulge, every curve. Pete’s chest was soft, his belly still bulged out, even flat on his back. He had love handles, and they pushed over the edge of his jeans beautifully. He looked so thick. Once his eyes had eaten up every bit, he moved down and licked over Pete’s belly button.

“What the fuck, Michael?” Pete asked. Even when he was trying to yell it was quiet, so Michael didn’t even jump. “Cut it out, that’s--”

His cheeks were so red.

“Take off your pants.”

Pete closed his eyes tight.

“This is fucking _embarrassing_.” He hissed. “You… please, can’t we turn the lights off? I’ll do whatever, I’ll suck you off if that’s you want.”

Michael frowned.

“Why are you so scared?”

Pete bit his lip, eyes still closed and face still red. He brought his hands up to cover his eyes. Fuck. Was he crying? Michael couldn’t tell but the thought made guilt shoot into his heart.

“Pete… Answer me, come on…” he said. His usual sharp tone softened a bit, and he pulled back.

“It’s cause I _fucking_ like you. I don’t want to be a fucking joke to you.” Pete said, and his voice sounded shaky. Michael had pushed too hard. He thought he had been convincing, that he’d be able to break past Pete’s insecurities with the right combination of words. “So get off. Jesus...”

They weren’t a ‘couple’. They’d agreed that love was stupid, that they’d never trip up and fall into any fantasies that it might be real. For them, “I like you” was the most sentimental thing one of them had ever said to the other.

And it had happened because Michael had pushed too hard, made Pete feel too vulnerable. Shit.

“Look, I… like you too, alright?” he said quickly. “Don’t cry. I wanted to… I just wanted to make you feel better.”

Pete lowered his hands, though they went straight to his stomach and wrapped around it.

“I wasn’t crying.” he attested, and Michael didn’t correct him, even though it was easy to tell he was lying. “... You like me?”

“Of course I do.”

“You aren’t making fun of me?”

“No, you fucking idiot.” Michael spat. “I wanted you to stop hiding your body from me. You don’t have to feel so goddamn insecure.”

Pete moved his arms back, propping himself up on his elbows. His cheeks were still stained that perfect pink. He licked his lips and looked down at his stomach.

“I thought… if you saw, you’d stop wanting me.” he said. “I know it’s fucking repulsive, I… I’ve tried. I tried to stop eating as much, and I even stopped skipping gym last year--”

“It’s not repulsive.” Michael interrupted, setting one hand on Pete’s rounded stomach. It didn’t look as big when he was lying down like this, but it still bowed out. “Why would I sugar-coat it?”

Pete shrugged.

“Cause... you like me?” he guessed. “Isn’t that what people who like each other do?”

“Well… yeah, I guess, but…” Michael said, feeling his own cheeks flush a bit. He tried to compose himself even after having the words flung back at him. “I like your gut, alright? If I didn’t, why would I try so hard to get a peek at it? Wouldn’t I want you to keep your fucking shirt on if I thought you were disgusting?”

That seemed to throw Pete for a loop, and with no argument left to make, he leaned forward and kissed Michael on the forehead. It was still weird, kissing.

“Ok. So that’s settled.” Michael continued. He grabbed Pete’s love handles, testing the weight in his hands. “Can I fuck you now, or what?”

Pete sighed and tossed his head back, his fringe feathering out over the pillow.

“I still want the lights off.” he admitted, eyes darting away. “... just this time? I won’t… stop thinking about it…”

“About _what_?”

“I… fuck, Michael, I don’t want to say it.” Pete whined.

“What could be more embarrassing than anything _else_ we just said to each other?”

To Michael, admitting a mutual like was beyond embarrassing. Much more not-goth than being pudgy, after all. Defeated, Pete glanced down.

“When we… during, I know I… my gut… it wobbles around. I can always feel it under my shirt. It’ll make you wanna barf.” Pete said. “It’s really fucking gross. You’ll change your mind if you see it. You’ll hate me.”

His voice was shaking again. Damn it.

“I wouldn’t.” Michael insisted. Pete didn’t move. “Look, I’ll turn them off this time, if you want. Ease into it a little. But that doesn’t mean I agree with any of the bullshit you’re spouting.”

Pete nodded immediately, if it meant the lights would go off he seemed ready to agree to anything.

“Fine.” Michael sighed, standing up and moving to turn the lights off.

His window was on the back of the house, so the nearest streetlight was across the backyard and then over a full other lawn. It helped, but only barely. Pete was a shadow to him now, no matter how pale his skin was. Michael sighed again, but moved back to the bed.

“This sucks.” he growled, moving on top of Pete again.

“I’ll make it up to you.” Pete said. He sounded nervous, but Michael couldn’t tell if that was abnormal. This was probably the longest they’d ever actually talked before sex. “You can do whatever you want, as long as the lights are off.”

Michael’s spirits piqued.

“Whatever I want?” he clarified.

“If you want to tie me up, or whatever kinky shit you’re into, that’s fine.” Pete said. “I won’t mind.”

Michael figured that _was_ a pretty good trade, even though he wouldn’t be able to see his handiwork. He thought about it for a moment, before going to his closet.

“We’ll need a safe word.”


	2. Life is Painful Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so... I really like this pairing. I'm still working on NaNoWriMo, but I keep getting ideas for these two. So on top of original writing, I am also pounding out words for this, happily, cause I enjoy it. I think I'm going to turn this into my first series, because I do want to do more with them. So instead of three chapters this one's gonna be two, and I'll definitely write more for this couple in this world. 
> 
> Onto more serious junk-  
> Warning: I’m trying to write this sorta more realistic than some other BDSM stuff I’ve written. Let me be frank, Michael is a fucking idiot in this story, so don’t emulate him at home. Uninformed people, people who don’t have proper resources make stupid mistakes, and it hurts people as a result. If you’re reading this, first of all thank you so much because that makes me so happy, but second of all you got the resources (internet), so don’t make mistakes and hurt someone. This is also sort of a trigger warning. Michael listens to the safe word, but he crosses a line first. He’s not ignoring the safe word, so I don’t know how to put it in the actual tags. If there’s an existing tag for trigger warnings on this type of situation, lemme know in the comments so I can add it. If you do kinky stuff, make sure everyone involved is consenting and knows what's going to happen.

Michael didn’t plan on pushing Pete too far twice in one night. He really didn't. He was kinky as fuck, but he knew from the start he would not be able to handle it if Pete cried again. That said, he wasn’t about to use any bondage without a safe word, because that would be asking for trouble. 

They’d decided on ‘Satan’. It was goth enough. Once that was picked, Michael got started. He used shackles to keep Pete’s hands tied above his head, right on the posts of Michael's bed. Before Pete could get too comfortable, Michael started to strap him into the thigh sling.

It was carefully chosen, mostly for aesthetic reasons. Michael had plenty of toys, but he knew the effect of this one would be good for Pete. If the lights had been on, he knew it would be even better, but his eyes were starting to adjust anyway. Many days with the lights off and curtains drawn shut, writing shit poetry by candlelight had made all of their night vision above average. The halter was leather and wrapped around Pete’s chest, with slings winding over each shoulder like a tank top. Then he fasted one more circlet around each thigh.

He wasn’t shy about touching Pete’s legs as he put him in the contraption. They were soft. Not as pudgy as the boy's stomach. That was where most of his weight seemed to have settled, but his fingers still sunk into the flesh. He was tempted to tighten the bands enough to have the meat bulge over and under it, but realized that was probably too dangerous… So he made it snug but not tight.

Then came the fun part- lifting up Pete’s pudgy legs to attach his thighs to his torso, with only a few inches of chain to separate the two- leaving his legs spread and ready for Michael. Not only that, though. Because his eyes had adjusted, he was able to just barely make out the affect this position had on his stomach- bunching it up into thick rolls.

“You ok? Feel your limbs?” he asked. Pete nodded, but that wasn’t enough. “Use your words.”

“Y-yeah, I-I can…” he whispered. He sounded nervous, but not about to cry. Thank fucking God.

“I’d kill to turn the fucking lights on right now.” Michael said, though he was already petting Pete’s cheek and pushing him onto his back. “But this’ll do.”

Pete was usually practically a mute during sex, and in general, so Michael was a little bit pleased when he started getting a few moans out of the other boy as he pushed him back and started his own personal worship of the shorter, chubbier boys body.

The sources of the moans, he had to assume, was the fact that he nibbled and sucked on the softest bits. He couldn’t push back the desire, even if he didn’t understand it. Once he realized that some parts of Pete’s body invoked actual moans and groans from his normally silent lover… that gave him the green-light to continue.

“You’re fucking hot.” he growled, moving up to Pete’s neck, whispering into his ear.

The power imbalance was palpable. Michael had yet to take off any more of his clothing- his trench coat draping onto Pete’s naked body when he leaned in. His shirt was open, and when he did press up against Pete he could feel the boys curves filling in the shallow parts of his body. It was hardly fair, but part of him wanted to get Pete back for not letting him keep the lights on.

Maybe he was a sap, and Pete’s bloodshot eyes and quivering voice had thrown him way off, but at the very least he was a sadistic sap. 

“You’re such a whore, letting me tie you up like this. All spread out for me.” he whispered, pushing his currently dry finger into Pete’s hole, just starting to tease him with how easy the access was in this position. He didn’t go in too deep dry, though. 

For Michael, that was traditional pillow talk, and Pete was used to it by now. Being called a whore and a slut was par for the course, and he didn’t seem to mind much. Now Michael wanted to see what else he was allowed to get away with. After all, they’d  _ said _ they ‘liked’ each other, right? That must’ve given him more wiggle room. They even had a safe word now.

He dipped his fingers into the bottle of lube on the side counter. It was actually nice to be doing this the traditional way, for once. He didn’t have to use spit, at least.

“ You even look more horny than usual. At least I think so… It’s hard to say with such a little dick.” he teased, trailing his fingers over the underside of Pete’s cock. It wasn’t really that small, but it was smaller than Michael’s by at least two inches. Really, Michael was quite a bit over the average, and Pete just slightly under. What really drove Michael wild was seeing how this position affected  _ that  _ area, as well.

Because Pete was forced to bend forward, knees practically resting by his shoulders, his fat tummy roll was pushed out. Far enough that the tip of his dick pressed into it. He was sure Pete could feel it, the entire head pressed into his thickest fat roll. He wished he could say something so goddamn bad, but even as emotionally stunted as Michael was, he realized it as a bad idea to tease Pete about that.

Not yet.

He kept teasing Pete’s member for awhile, but found that no matter how much he played with it, Pete stayed quiet. His expression would change, of course. His eyes would close tightly, his breath would hitch, but he kept control. Interesting. Time for experiments. 

He liked forcing Pete to be vocal, but he rarely was able to. He’d gotten the boy to beg, once or twice, but it had been an uphill battle and taken much more effort than he was willing to admit. If Pete was going to make it a challenge, Michael wasn’t above cheating a little. He switched back to his teeth.

It really was the fleshy bits that prodded Pete to actually make little noises. It was even hotter that he was very clearly trying to hold them back. His stomach was the easiest target, but that was too obvious. When Michael got creative he was able to pinpoint more. His arms, for example, were  _ incredibly _ plush on the underside. His skin felt like silk stuffed with goose feathers there- so flabby and soft. He got a full gasp of shock from Pete when he lightly drew his teeth across.

“Is that why you fucking hid all your skin away?” Michael teased. “Are you secretly a noisy little whore?”

“Nn... Fuck off.” Pete snapped back, but it was weak. He was already leaking precum, and Michael was only getting started. 

Pete’s thighs was another secret spot. They were soft to the touch, as well, and the more Michael nibbled and sucked on the insides, the louder Pete’s little mews became. When Michael switched to the underside of the chubby boys gut- cheek grazing his shaft but not servicing it- Pete shivered and took a sharp, loud intake of breath. He tried to thrust his dick closer, but his current position took away any semblance of control over the situation.

“Jesus Christ you sound like such a porn star when I touch you here.” Michael teased, leaving purple hickeys along the bottom of Pete’s gut. “Don’t you regret not letting me fuck you properly earlier?”

If Pete had access to his hands, Michael had no doubt he’d be using both of them to cover his mouth. Instead, he bit his lip, but that did little to muffle the noises of his gasps and moans.

“I think you owe me a fucking apology for hiding your stomach for so long.” Michael insisted, looking up at Pete, mouth hovering only centimeters away from his needy dick. “Then maybe I’ll take care of this…”

He licked the tip. Just a bit, but he felt it twitch at the light touch with his tongue.

“A~ahh….” Pete whimpered, curling up even tighter, pushing his member into his tummy, making a mess of his gut with the tip. “S-stop, that’s… n-not fair…”

“This isn’t fair?”

Michael nibbled again, and watched and Pete twisted his head back trying not to groan.

“How about spending six fucking months wondering what you actually looked like under your clothes? Finding out you were keeping your sexy body from me for stupid fucking reasons?” Michael demanded, pushing up on his palms, moving his face up to Pete’s, his grey eyes meeting the shorter boys baby blues. Pete met his gaze, panting and red. “Do you  _ get it  _ yet?”

Pete held the eye contact for a moment longer, and then closed them, a small squeak coming from deep in his throat.

“Just… j-just fuck me already.” he whined. Usually that’s all it took, because Michael would be pleased that he got the boy to speak at all, but that wasn’t good enough this time.

“Do. You. Get. It?” Michael repeated, stabbing each word. 

“Get  _ what? _ ”  Pete asked. He was as loud as he could get, really. It was.. fuck,  _ cute  _ how he never raised his voice. He couldn’t yell. It wasn’t in his nature. 

“Stop being stupid on purpose.” 

Pete took a breath and shook his head.

“I get that... y-you’re a kinky fuck with no standards.” he spat out finally, eyes twisted shut. 

Michael’s face steeled over, though Pete couldn’t see it. He knew Pete wasn’t this stupid. He wasn't saying it on purpose. He didn’t want to say the reality so he was making shit up instead. He was trying to rile Michael up more, which in Michael's head, translated to Pete begging to be pushed further. He had enough, and pulled back.

The sound of his hand smacking the side of Pete’s face was louder than the short boys voice had managed to get at it’s loudest. Pete’s eyes snapped open, and his breath hitched again. Like before, but this time he held it. 

“Don’t be a fucking moron. Say it.” Michael snapped back, glaring at Pete.

When the boy didn’t move, he waited. He thought for sure Pete would get it this time, but instead, he only barely started to breath again before shaking his head.

“… Satan.” he whispered. Michael didn’t move. After a beat, Pete pulled on the bindings around his wrists. “I fucking said the safe word, Michael!”

Michael moved then. He was able to unbuckle the harness around Pete’s thighs with ease, but stumbled for a moment with the handcuffs. He didn’t want to have to look for the key, but he almost forgot how to use the emergency release. Once he remembered and Pete was freed, the boy pushed him off and moved to the end of the bed, wrapping his hands around his shoulders.

The taller goth just watched Pete’s back for awhile, certain that eventually the chubby kid would say he was okay, and they’d start again. As the minutes past, he realized that wasn’t coming. Pete moved, once, to pull some blankets around him, but beyond that there was nothing. He wasn’t crying, at least. He was just sitting at the end of the bed, blanket wrapped around his chubby body and eyes shut. He was rocking, just a bit. Trying to calm himself, probably.

And Michael felt useless.

“ I thought… You said I could do whatever I wanted.” he finally said. He realized once it left his mouth that it was exactly the wrong thing to say in this situation, but it was too late.

“I said you could tie me up, not that you could  _ fucking _ hit me if I didn’t say what you wanted me to.” Pete argued back. His soft yell seemed less endearing now, and instead made Michael feel like absolute shit.

The taller boy moved over, but he saw Pete turning away from him. Had he really fucked up that badly? He’d been with others before, they hadn’t reacted this way to getting hit.

Except, then Michael remembered the black eyes.

The fact that Pete hadn’t agreed to getting hit this time, just like he hadn’t back in middle school.

_ Fuck. _

“Shit…” he said, glancing away. “I… I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“That’s… not good enough.” Pete whispered. He curled up even tighter in the blankets. “This was a bad idea. I should go.”

He didn’t move yet. That was the only thing that gave Michael a little bit of hope. Even though he was almost certain he was only not moving because he knew he’d have to ask for Michael’s help to remove the straps he still had on, and hope was for naive sheep who couldn't face reality.

“Look- I don’t need the toys or any of that shit. I mean, I fucking like them, but we don’t have to use them.” he said. His voice still seemed as calm as ever. He didn’t know if Pete knew him well enough to tell he wasn’t. Could he pick up on the fact that he was talking just a bit faster, that his voice was just a bit higher? That he really was sorry?

“I… didn’t mind getting tied up.”

“Okay. No hitting. I got it.” 

“That’s…” Pete started, and then shrugged. “Fuck it. I probably should get hit.”

That part confused Michael enough that a silence lingered for awhile. He shook his head, but didn’t have words. It felt like it lasted forever before Pete spoke up again.

“You never tried to hit me when I kept my shirt on.” he finally said after an eternity. “We’ve fucked plenty of times. You’ve called me all the names and pinned me up on walls and shit, but you never fucking smacked me before.”

“It’s not because you’re fucking fat, Jesus Christ…” Michael said, his voice starting to border on annoyed without meaning it to. He was the one in the wrong here, but how thick could Pete really be? No pun intended. “I thought that’s what I was making pretty goddamn clear.”

“Just cause you’re still willing to fuck me and say I’m hot doesn’t mean you actually like how I look.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Michael asked. “What  _ would  _ fucking prove it?”

Now it was Pete’s turn to not have words. Instead, he rubbed his cheek. Michael started to really try to remember how much force he’d put behind the slap. He hadn’t been paying attention. Fuck, if it bruised… He didn't think he'd be able to look at Pete ever again. Pete was pale as fuck, too. He probably bruised like a bitch.

“Lie back down. I’ll get ice.” he said, moving to the door. When he reached it he looked back at the bed. He could make out Pete’s shape as the chubby boy moved to the middle of the bed and curled up, but it was mostly a mess of blankets.

It was simpler when they fucked with their clothes on. Michael hadn’t helped anything, he’d made things worse. If that wasn’t the story of his life, nothing was. Fuck. He swore all the way to the kitchen, under his breath. He grabbed an ice-pack from the fridge, ducking to avoid the low walls of his house that he now had memorized.

He moved back into the room and sat down on the bed. He didn’t even try to touch Pete. He didn’t have the right to, not really. He did offer him the ice-pack.

“Here. Put it on your cheek, it’ll help.” he said. Pete took it, but Michael could tell he just held it in his hands. “Don’t go. I can… fix this.”

Pete let out a breath that sounded mildly annoyed, but it was hard to tell in the dark.

“I’m glad that you like me, or whatever, but… I’m not fucking delusional.” he said, voice still as soft as ever. It was steady now. He wasn’t on the verge of tears, but it didn’t feel like it was because he wasn’t sad. It seemed more like he was doing everything in his power to not acknowledge how sad he was. “Naked, I’m a four on a good day, and you’re a nine on your worst.”

“Where the fuck are you pulling that statistic from?” Michael asked. 

“You’re like, what? Two feet taller than me?”

“Don’t exaggerate. Maybe a foot.” Michael corrected, though really it was probably between the two estimates. He was the tallest kid in his grade, and it was actually really fucking irritating.

“I bet I weigh more than you. Probably a lot more.”

“I’m a fucking skeleton. That’s not something to fucking aspire to.” Michael contested, turning around to look at the pile of blankets. Fair enough, maybe his physique worked well for a goth. He looked closer to death, that was for damn sure, but it wasn't like he'd picked to be so weirdly thin. “And so what? You’re fat. I’m not trying to say you aren’t. I’m saying I don’t give a shit. That maybe it turns me on.”

That seemed to quiet Pete down again. Sometimes he shut down when other people talked too much. He was a thinker, not a leader.

“I shouldn’t have fucking hit you. That wasn’t okay. But don’t go making some connection in your head that doesn’t fucking exist.”

There was some movement under the blanket, and Michael guessed that Pete had finally put the ice-pack where it belonged.

“So… me being a pig seriously turns you on?” Pete asked, and Michael let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Sure.” he said. “You could say it in a way that isn’t dripping with self-loathing like an emo cunt, but yeah.”

“... Why?”

The question was equal parts heartbreaking and worrying. Heartbreaking because it sounded so desperate, like Pete had never once imagined anyone would actually desire his body. Worrying, because Michael had already proved he wasn’t fucking good with words and emotions so many times that he was almost positive he’d fuck this up, too.

“Fuck, I don't know, Pete. It… fucking feels good. It looks good. And, fuck it, you know what? I have noticed when we fuck, your ass jiggles. Even when you kept all your clothes on. It's the only part you really couldn't fucking hide from me. I think it’s hot. When you said that your gut did it too, it made me hard as a rock.” he said, because it was what came to mind and there was no way he would let the silence linger after such a loaded question. No doubt Pete would think too far into that, too. It wasn't exactly romantic, but it was honest. “Look, I’ve been with other guys. A few girls. I’m not picky when it comes to bodies, but… Seeing yours did something to me. I can’t tell you what because I’m not good at this shit, but it stirred up something inside of me, and I acted stupid just because I wanted you to believe it wasn’t bad. And then I fucked up, because I fuck up everything I do.”

Pete seemed to stop breathing again, and Michael searched for more words. He couldn’t find any, and buried his head in his hands in frustration.

“And it’s  _ not  _ just that I’m a kinky fuck.” he argued, remembering what Pete said earlier. “I am. Maybe that’s a part of it, cause I’ve had some really fetish-y thoughts since I found out about your body, but… That’s not it. Cause even when we aren’t fucking, I really like how you look, and.. you know. Fuck, Pete. This is hard.”

Pete nodded, seemingly appreciating that this was difficult to Michael and that he was doing the best he could with what he had. Unfortunately what he had was a limited vocabulary of mostly curses and a fucked-up view of relationships to begin with.

“... There’s a way you could prove it.” Pete finally muttered, sitting up. “I thought of one.”

Michael looked up. He felt like the dark circles under his eyes must’ve gone a shade darker during this conversation alone. 

“Yeah?” he asked. “Spit it out, then.”

Pete shrugged, like he did whenever he said anything he actually cared about.

“You could, I dunno… date me.”

The two-toned hair was all Michael could see, and he was sure Pete did that on purpose. He really was practically an emo cunt at times, but he hid it well by shutting the fuck up about it. He was goth at his core, though. He was loyal. That's why they never even considered kicking him out, even if he seemed right on the edge of that annoying bullshit fad.

There was a long silence, and during that time, Pete shrugged again and started tugging on his fringe. Michael thought he was trying to pretend he didn’t care about the answer. The problem was… well, Michael.

Pete knew how he felt about dating and relationships. It wasn’t like he had changed his opinion since they met. It was bullshit. Usually, you ended up fucking hating the other persons guts.

“I’m not gonna force you.” Pete said. “If you just want to keep things the same, I don’t really fucking care.”

Michael rolled his eyes. Bullshit he didn't care. Love was fucking made-up bullshit, but… they didn’t say love earlier, they said like. Like was fine, wasn’t it? And people who liked each other could date without diluting themselves into thinking love was more than fairyland bullshit you fed to kids.

And... fuck. He just wanted to make Pete happy.

“Fine. Do we have to go see a shitty movie?” he said, eyes focused on Pete enough even in the dark to catch him glancing over his shoulder looking… almost shocked. Which kind of pissed Michael off. Just a little bit. “What? Did you think I’d say no?”

Pete didn’t even try to lie, he just nodded. Michael shrugged this time.

“I hate movies.” he growled. “It’s all boring, pointless bullshit. The same lies packaged up over and over. But if you wanna see one, I’ll go. Whatever.”

“Just so you can fuck me without my clothes on?”

“Just so you’ll believe I _ like  _ fucking you without your clothes on.”

Pete lowered the blanket, though only enough to expose his shoulders. He was still hiding his gut, and even seemed to be careful to not show his chest, either.

“We don’t have to see any shitty movies. Just... don't fuck anyone else.”

“Fucking good. And I haven't, anyway.” Michael mumbled, finally sitting back against the wall and trying to relax. He wondered if Pete had been with any other guys since they hooked up, but honestly didn't care that much. He kind of doubted it. Pete was too timid for casual sex with strangers... maybe. “Not since you. But you gotta meet me half-way here.”

“This wasn’t half-way?” Pete asked, gesturing to the straps. Or maybe his naked torso in general, it was hard to tell.

“I told you, I don’t care about the fucking gear. We don’t have to.” Michael insisted, pushing himself away from the wall and moving to Pete, wrapping his arms around the smaller-- well, smaller height-wise, goth’s waist. “But you have to fucking believe me. Trust me. I know the world is full of fucking assholes, but I’m…”

Could he honestly say he wasn’t one of them right now? After what he did? That was a bit of a stretch…

“I don’t lie.” he decided, knowing that much was true. “And I don’t want to be dating someone who acts like a emo shit all the time, hating himself for no good reason.”

He tugged the blanket down until he could see all of Pete, and for his part, the other boy nodded like he might actually be paying attention this time.

“I’m not some emo faggot.” Pete growled lowly, looking up at Michael with one eye, the other still hidden away.

“Prove it, then. We hate  _ them _ . Not ourselves. If they don’t like it, that’s their fucking problem, not yours.” Michael said softly. Pete nodded along. “So… you’ve been, what, dieting? Going to gym class and shit?”

Pete kept nodding, and Michael nuzzled his neck.

“Cut that shit out.” he urged, hands moving down to Pete’s stomach, cupping the fatty orb. Pete didn’t even flinch this time. “Life is painful enough.”

“Okay.” he said softly, closing his eyes and leaning onto the taller man. “I can do that. I fucking hate gym.”

Michael huffed an agreement. How long had Pete been taking it? They always skipped classes together. Gym was the first one they stopped going to, back in elementary. Michael was almost certain that you had to sign up for it specifically in your senior year, which made it all the more shameful that one of their own was actually attending.

And it bothered Michael that he hadn’t known. He was their leader, after all. He should’ve known sooner, confronted Pete as a friend instead of… well, a fuck-buddy? Though he supposed they were boyfriends now. He didn’t think he appreciated the title except that it tied him to Pete a little more. 

“Are you hungry?” Michael asked, not letting go of Pete’s stomach. He was finally allowed to touch, he wasn’t about to stop. Pete let out a short half-laugh, like Michael had told a joke.   
“Fucking starving.”


End file.
